


Take the Leap, I Promise to Catch You

by lutes_and_dandelions



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia fic, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Vulnerable Lambert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutes_and_dandelions/pseuds/lutes_and_dandelions
Summary: Jaskier wakes up in a strange bed, staring at the strange ceiling surrounded by things that look like he would own them but has no recollection of buying them. A brief conversation with Geralt, it quickly becomes apparent that he's missing not one, not two, but sixteen years worth of memories. As if that wasn't enough, there's something Geralt isn't telling him and Lambert, a man he has no recollection of, is avoiding him like the plague.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 61
Kudos: 276





	Take the Leap, I Promise to Catch You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mix_kid_ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mix_kid_ao3/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Brave! I hope it's been fab!

Jaskier opened his eyes and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. He tried to recollect how he’d gotten there in the first place but the memories were like smoke slipping through his fingers. In fact, the last thing he did remember was being on the road, heading in the direction of Aedirn with Geralt. There hadn’t been a shack, nevermind a castle keep for miles around. No matter how hard he tried, Jaskier couldn’t fathom how he’d ended up in an unfamiliar bed, and he’d made a habit _of_ remembering things like that. 

Turning his head to the side, his eyes landed on a blonde, teenage girl. She was curled up in an armchair, a book open on her knees. “Pavetta?” he asked, moving from unsure into outright confusion.

Seemingly startled, bright green eyes flicked to him, her brows drawing together, mouth twisting into a grimace. Jaskier didn’t understand, a knot of worry began to tighten in his belly. What was happening?

“I’ll be right back,” Pavetta said before leaping from the chair with the grace of a cat and bolting from the room. 

The voice was wrong. Barely six months had passed since the banquet in Cintra but he could still remember the soft, eloquent tones with which she spoke. This woman’s words were rough around the edges, frayed, they spoke of the schooling of nobility in younger years but that was all. There was no way Pavetta would sound like _that_ after such a short period of time. Not to mention, Pavetta should have been heavily pregnant or in a recently postnatal state. 

No, Jaskier decided, that wasn’t Pavetta, although it looked weirdly like her. 

To distract himself he sat up, shuffling back to lean against the headboard, and looked around the room. There was a window to his right, showing him the tops of snow covered trees in a mountain range he was very sure he’d never seen before. There was a doublet hanging on the outside of the wardrobe door that had to be his, the cut, the colour, it screamed of him, although he didn’t remember buying it. Boots of two different sizes littered one corner of the room, again some were in a style he would wear, but the others were larger, sturdier, made for tramping through all terrains. He spied a pair of gauntlets sitting on the dressing table, an armoured jacket hanging over the back of the chair. On the bedside table next to him, a romance novel from an author he’d never heard of, on the other, a text on fledders. 

Where was he?!

Before he could truly descend into panic, a dark haired man Jaskier didn’t recognise appeared in the doorway. His amber cat eyes and the wolf medallion hanging over his shirt giving him away as another witcher. A spike of panic shot through Jaskier’s chest but another witcher appeared, white haired and familiar.

“Geralt!” he exclaimed. “Where am I?” 

The dark haired man stopped so abruptly Geralt almost walked into his back. Jaskier would have found it comical in any other situation, but he was so confused. Geralt dodged around the other witcher, a frown tugging at his eyebrows as he sank down in the seat that the girl who looked like Pavetta but wasn’t Pavetta had vacated. 

“What happened to your face?” he asked, staring at the scar that cut through Geralt’s eyebrow and cheek. It didn’t even look like a fresh injury. 

“This is Kaer Morhen, Jaskier, we’re wintering here.”

“But it was summer!” Despite Geralt’s presence the panic was returning, powerful and fast, threatening to pull him away with its current. 

“The girl who was sitting with you, you called her Pavetta-” Geralt said.

“That’s not Pavetta,” Jaskier interrupted.

“No, you’re right, it’s not,” he confirmed. Jaskier opened his mouth to ask another question and Gearlt held his hand up to silence him, so bewildered and alarmed he actually closed his mouth again.

“Pavetta’s marriage banquet...when was that?” Geralt asked.

“It was six months ago, how could you have forgotten?” 

The other man inhaled sharply, drawing Jaskier’s gaze to him. His face was devoid of emotion, except his eyes, they were filled with such pain Jaskier had to look away. He looked back to Geralt, the grim set of his features ramping Jaskier’s internal anguish up another notch.

“ _Please_ tell me what the hell is going on, Geralt.” 

“You were up in one of the towers and when you were coming back down, one of the steps crumbled, you slipped and hit your head.”

“But I-”

“We called Yennefer-”

“Who’s Yennefer?” he asked, but Geralt ignored him.

“She portaled in, did what she could but she’s no healer, and in her words ‘brains are tricky’ so… Jaskier, that wasn’t Pavetta, it was Cirilla, her daughter. The banquet wasn’t six months a go, it was sixteen years ago.” 

“What?!” He gasped, feeling tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. 

“The fall has clearly done more damage than we anticipated.”

“Sixteen years,” he panted, clutching at his chest. It felt so tight, like a metal band had wrapped itself around his lungs and was squeezing. It was unbelievable, sixteen years of his life gone. Why nothing made sense suddenly made total sense. A rush of loss and fear overwhelmed him, filling him up from the inside. “I feel like I’m drowning,” he choked out. “Geralt.”

But before Geralt could begin to move, the dark haired man was already kneeling beside him on the bed. He took one of Jaskier’s hands and pressed it to his chest. “Breath with me,” he murmured, tone unbearably soft with something Jaskier didn’t understand at all. “Focus on my breathing, Jaskier.” 

He was too far down the spiral to question it. The man began to count to eight on the inhale and again to eight on the exhale, he could feel the man’s chest going up and down with the pattern. Jaskier desperately wanted to remember who this man was, they must know each other, the easy way he immediately moved to help Jaskier. 

“Who are you?” he gasped, eyes roving over his face, taking in the beard, the full lips, the hooked nose, the scars that ran down his forehead, one cutting through the edge of his eyebrow and carrying down onto his cheek. As he slowly began to calm, mirroring the man's breathing, Jaskier’s desperation for an answer steadily grew. “Please tell me,” Jaskier beseeched. 

But the man just shook his head and seeing that Jaskier’s breathing had returned to normal, stood, back stiff and jaw clenched. “Geralt, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice not at all what Jaskier was expecting. 

“Be right back.” Geralt stood and followed Lambert out. The door didn’t quite close behind them, standing just ajar. Still, Jaskier couldn’t hear what was being said. Wanting a distraction while he waited for Geralt to return, he inspected his hands. They were a little different from what he remembered, hairier, veinier but still his hands. The lute calluses were thankfully still there, although they were thicker. 

“It’ll be better this way!” The unknown man shouted.

“You’re being a fool!” Geralt snarled. 

“Yeah that sounds about right! Just an unlucky fool that the Gods like to take a shit on whenever they get bored!” The witcher’s voice sounded so riddled with heartbreak it made Jaskier’s chest hurt. “I can’t take anymore, Geralt.”

“It might be alright though!”

“But it might not be and I-” Whatever the man was going to say Jaskier never found out because he’d stopped shouting. 

Jaskier continued his perusal of his suddenly older body. His arms were thicker, his chest was broader and his stomach was decidedly softer then he remembered it being at twenty seven. He pulled up the hem of the too big shirt he was wearing and poked at it. A set of scars that looked awfully like claw marks cut jaggedly across his hip and he ran his fingertips along their thickened edges. 

Pushing the covers down a bit further, Jaskier exposing his thighs. A green and yellow bruise caught Jaskier’s eye, or more a series of bruises. Round splotches across the tops and sides of his thighs that on closer inspection snaked up to his hips. Jaskier stared at them, the last time he’d had bruises like that, that he could remember, it had been after some particularly athletic rounds of sex, the marks left by the man’s fingers. But that couldn’t be where they were from, surely? 

His eyes flicked around the room again, realising that two people clearly shared this space. He swallowed, throat clicking loudly in the quiet room. The point at which his memories stopped and the preceding years, he’d been desperately in love with Geralt, so what if this was a room he shared with Geralt? What if he had plucked up the courage to tell him how he’d felt? 

Jaskier expected to feel elated at the possibility but oddly, he felt nothing at all at the idea. It was so strange. 

He was still considering it when Geralt returned, his stomach didn’t flip, his heart didn’t skip a beat at the sight of him. It left Jaskier feeling slightly off kilter. “Is this my room?” he asked, the first of many questions.

“Yes,” Geralt answered, face strangely relaxed, as if he was purposefully trying not to give anything away. 

“Are those your things?” he continued, trying not to sound too hopeful as he gestured to the boots, the armoured jacket slung over the back of a chair, the book on the bedside table.

“No.”

“Then whose?”

“No ones,” Geralt answered, a little too quickly, staring at Jaskier a little too hard. “I was pulling them out of storage when you slipped.”

“Why was I in a tower? What was I doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Please tell me the truth, Geralt.”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t I believe you,” Jaskier shook his head, the emptiness inside frustrating him exponentially. He heaved a sigh, pushing the feeling away as best he could. “Go on, start from the betrothal feast and tell me the highlights of what I’ve missed.”

Looking relieved and only compounding Jaskier’s belief that he’d lied, Geralt took a breath and began the story.

-oOo-

Nothing stopped dinnertime in the keep, including missing memories. He traipsed after Geralt through the ramshackle keep, trying to look in rooms as he passed and remembering which ones he wanted to look in later. A reasonably sized library caught his eye for further investigation.

The Grand Hall clearly had been grand at one point. Large, aging murals covered the walls, and instead of being filled with enough tables to comfortably seat all members of the Wolf School, it was covered in boxes of bombs and other weapons. Jaskier also spied a few large bags of oats and flour and he was pretty sure there was a distillery peeking out from behind one of the pillars. Only one table was in use, tucked away in one corner in front of one of the large fireplaces dotted around the room. 

Three men and one woman already sat at the table, having just started their meal of stew. Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel and Ciri. Geralt had described them all to Jaskier as part of his story. Lambert being the one to help him through his panic attack. He felt nervous, and had to remind himself that he already knew these people, it would be okay.

Upon seeing him, Ciri bounced out of her seat and over to him. “I can’t believe you forgot me,” Ciri complained, wrapping him in a tight hug. With only a little hesitance he returned the gesture. “Who’s going to knit me a new jumper now!”

“I knit?” he asked, shocked, unable to imagine it.

“All the time!” she chirped, pulling back.

“You really do,” Geralt added as he seated himself at the table. 

Eskel and Vesemir approached him next, reintroduced themselves with grace, shaking his hand and not looking the slightest bit annoyed about repeating they’d already surely told him, if only he could remember. Lambert however did not stand to greet him, merely grunting a hello when Jaskier approached him to try and shake his hand. 

Trying to pay it no mind, Jaskier sat down next to Geralt and served himself a bowl of stew, tucking in heartily. 

“This is the tastiest stew I’ve ever eaten!” Jaskier exclaimed after his first few mouthfuls, it really was fantastic. “The venison is so tender, the gravy is so _thick_ and paired with those herbs! I think I want to eat it every day for the rest of my life and-”

Lambert stood abruptly from the table and stalked away, slamming the door behind him, leaving his own bowl of stew behind at the table. 

“What?” Jaskier frowned, feeling himself deflate, too shocked to even shout after Lambert for being such a dick. “I don’t- Was it something I said?” He looked over to Geralt, not understanding. 

“It wasn’t,” Geralt shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Disheartened, Jaskier went back to his dinner. It really was very good stew, he refused to let Lambert’s behaviour ruin his meal. It was just so strange. Geralt had said he’d known Lambert for nearly ten years, had they really not been able to reach a state of civility with one another in that time, or did Lambert truly find him so abhorrent a person he really couldn’t stand to be around him? Jaskier forcefully pushed it from his mind and joined Vesemir and Ciri’s conversation about the importance of proper sock darning in winter. 

After mopping up the last of the gravy with a chunk of bread, Jaskier sighed, patted his belly and asked, “Who made dinner anyway?”

He knew the answer before anyone opened their mouths. The sudden crackle of tension in the air, the look Geralt gave the rest of the table was more than enough of an answer.

-oOo-

The only large mirror in Kaer Morhen resided in the library, sitting in a gilded frame above the fireplace, dusty and spotted with age but it still did it’s job. Jaskier stared at himself, at the reflection of someone he recognised but who was certainly different to how he remembered. Crows feet perched in the corners of his eyes even when he wasn’t smiling, laugh lines cut deeply around his mouth, gray peppered his hair and the beard he couldn’t remember growing.

He’d hoped, rather naively, that upon hearing what he’d spent the last sixteen years of his life doing, he’d remember them. He hadn’t. There was still an empty space in his mind when he tried to recall anything Geralt had told him. And what adventures to forget. Dragon hunts and djinns, a wayward child surprise, an encroaching empire. Apparently he’d chronicled it all in song, but he’d have to learn them from another bard as he couldn’t recall any of the ballads he’d written. 

Jaskier desperately wanted to remember but he couldn’t. 

Sixteen years. It was such a long time. Ciri was literally the same age as the length of time he’d forgotten. Wars had been won and lost, countries overtaken, a usurper usurped and he couldn’t remember any of it. 

Unbidden, tears sprang to Jaskier’s eyes. He tried to blink them away but the scope of all that he’d lost hit him all at once. _Sixteen years_. So many experiences, so much happiness and joy all gone in one slip of footing. 

Jaskier moved to one of the couches ringing the fireplace and let himself sob, let himself feel the grief and anguish that had been building in his chest while he examined his new face. He wasn’t sure for how long he cried, but he felt better afterwards. Wiping away the last of the tears slipping down his cheeks and blowing his nose with his handkerchief, Jaskier sat back and enjoyed the catharsis that always followed a good cry. A headache was building behind his forehead, from the tears, but the journey down to the kitchen for water could wait another few minutes.

“You alright?”

Not knowing he had company, Jaskier squawked in fright, jumping out of his skin. Clutching at his chest he stared up at Lambert, stunned at seeing him after he’d so dramatically stormed from the Grand Hall. Recovering himself, Jaskier bound his feet, hating the way his knees twinged at the sudden movement as he approached him. 

“Hi Lambert,” he smiled, trying again to introduce himself, holding his hand out for Lambert to shake, “it’s great to remeet you.” 

Lambert’s eyes roved over Jaskier’s face, and he felt himself blush as he realised Lambert would know he’d been crying. Those amber eyes fell to the hand Jaskier was holding out towards him.

“Yeah,” Lambert grimaced, “You’re fine.” He turned on his heel and stalked back towards the library door.

“Don’t be so rude!” Jaskier called after him, frustration and annoyance surging through him. First at the dinner table and now this? It was unbelievable. 

A bitter, pained laugh fell from Lambert’s lips, he paused in the open door, not looking back. “If I had a crown for every time you’ve called me rude, I wouldn’t have to be a cunting witcher anymore.” 

Jaskier wished he had a crown in his pocket so he could throw it at the back of Lambert’s head.

-oOo-

When Jaskier arrived back at his room that night, the things that had clearly not been his, the armour, the book, had all been removed. The room looked oddly bare without them. As he tried to sleep that night, Jaskier tossed and turned for a long time before he managed to drift off to sleep, something feeling not quite right inside of him.

-oOo-

The wind was brisk, the sun was weak and his breath puffed out in a cloud in front of his face but Jaskier was glad to be outside. He and Geralt walked north, Ciri was ahead of them, all of them wrapped up in winter cloaks, hats and gloves. They were talking about something innocuous when Jaskier slipped, feet going out from under him. The sickening feeling of weightlessness that accompanied every fall was interrupted by Geralt’s arms, wrapping around him with ease and stopping him from hitting the ground.

Jaskier stared up at Geralt, confused. His heart was pounding but the layer of excitement and happiness that usually washed through him at Geralt’s every touch and glance since he was eighteen was...gone. Completely absent. 

Feeling off kilter, Jaskier let Geralt set him back on his feet. “Careful,” Geralt said, “Don’t want you losing any more memories.”

“No,” Jaskier laughed but it felt hollow.

-oOo-

Jaskier stared at the little hand mirror. He’d shaved off his beard and it had been a _mistake_. His chin and jaw looked weaker then he remembered. Maybe that was why he’d grown it in the first place, to hide it from himself and the world. He’d hoped it might make him look a little younger but that plan had backfired terribly. It was a good thing it wouldn’t take too long to grow back. Putting down the mirror and packing away his shaving kit, Jaskier vowed never to shave his beard again.

-oOo-

“Am I with anyone?” Jaskier asked.

He and Geralt were in the stables, Geralt was mucking out Roach while Jaskier reacquainted himself with his own horse. 

Flora was a beautiful dun mare, she’d whinnied upon first catching sight of Jaskier, clearly very happy to see him. It made Jaskier feel very warm inside, happy that he’d managed to inspire such love and trust in her. Her stable had already been mucked out, so Jaskier was feeding her carrots, praising her everytime she daintily picked the vegetable from his palm.

“What do you mean?” Geralt returned. 

Jaskier tutted at his bad avoidance. “Do I have a partner?” he reiterated, refusing to let Geralt slip out of it. He’d enjoyed sowing his oats while in his twenties but he had always planned to settle down eventually, he was heir to an estate after all. A decade or two seeing the world before going back home but he was forty three and in Kaer Morhen for winter so something must have changed somewhere along the line.

“Well you know what you’re like,” Geralt snorted, not looking at him, “married to your music. No one could compete with that.” 

“Right.” Jaskier turned into Flora’s neck, pressing his face to her soft coat to hide the expression twisting his face. 

Geralt had lied to him, again.

-oOo-

Every time Jaskier played his lute, in his room, in the library, in the grand hall, if he was alone, he was always overcome by the feeling that someone was watching, listening. A few times he even called out but he never received an answer.

-oOo-

Jaskier watched Lambert train Ciri from his bedroom window. He couldn’t hear what was being said but they appeared to be having a great time. Their faces were indistinct, his eyesight not as good as it used to be but he could read their open posture and Ciri appeared to be throwing her head back and laughing a lot.

The man was incredibly elusive. After the strange incident with the stew he stopped joining them for meals. Jaskier would sometimes hear him talking to someone but when he went to investigate, Lambert was always gone. Jaskier didn’t know how Lambert did it, but it made him equally frustrated and curious. Even if Lambert was acting as such because he truly hated Jaskier, he wanted to know what he’d done to deserve such hate. The times he’d tried to press Geralt for answers he’d just gruffly reply that of course Lambert didn’t hate him. But then he couldn’t understand why Lambert couldn’t seem to be able to bear sharing space with him if he truly didn’t dislike him. 

It was confusing. A conundrum. Watching him through the window was not leading Jaskier any closer to answers but despite not being able to clearly see Lambert’s face, Jaskier was so intrigued he didn’t want to look away.

-oOo-

Wanting to know once and for all, Jaskier searched the keep until he found Geralt in the greenhouse, pulling up turnips.

“Geralt,” he growled, stalking towards him.

Geralt stood and turned, clearly about to say something when Jaskier crashed into him, kissing him fiercely. Making a noise of surprise, Geralt didn’t respond and then pushed Jaskier off of him, sending him halfway across the room. “Jaskier, what the fuck?!” he snarled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Geralt’s ire was of no concern to him. How many nights had he fallen asleep dreaming of Geralt’s kiss, the way it would fill him up from the inside out and make him feel like the center of the universe. Of course it wasn’t the best kiss and Geralt had not reciprocated the gesture but he should have felt _something_ kissing the man he’d been so sure was the love of his life, the love to end all others, the love that nothing else could compare too. But he had felt nothing.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, taking another step back, looking down at the floor without really seeing it, “I just had to know.” He couldn’t quite believe it. What had happened to make him fall out of love with Geralt? It felt like a rug had been pulled out from under him.

“It’s okay,” Geralt sighed. “Just don’t do it again, if La-”

Jaskier’s head snapped up and he stared at Geralt, eyes trying to bore a hole into Geralt’s head so he could just read what he wasn’t saying. “What?”

“Nothing, forget about it.” Geralt went back to the turnips and no matter how much Jaskier wheedled him for more information, Geralt’s lips stayed firmly sealed.

-oOo-

Jaskier found a bag tucked between the side of his bed and the bedside table. It contained knitting he may never never finish. The bag contained a few balls of black wool, something on a pair of needles and three knitted pieces. He laid them out on the bed, looking at them critically. The front, back and a sleeve of a jumper. A blue letter L was knitted into the front panel. It stared back at him, mocking. Heart pounding, he carefully folded each piece back up and placed them back into the bag, putting it back where he found it before storming from the room, everything falling into place.

-oOo-

Knowing he’d never find Lambert without another witcher’s help, Jaskier once again found himself searching for Geralt, eventually finding him in the kitchen, chopping up carrots for dinner. “I swear to the Gods, after all of the _lies_ you’ve told me, if you don’t help me find Lambert I will sprinkle toast crumbs in your bed from now until spring!”

“Okay,” Geralt nodded, putting down the knife, a smile flirting with his lips. 

“Okay?” He’d expected a fight, or at least the logical rebuttal that Geralt could just _lock the door_.

“I thought Lambert was being dumb,” he shrugged. “I’m glad you finally figured it out, now I don’t have to keep his stupid secret. What do you say after dinner I lead him to the library on the pretense of showing him an old book or something?”

“Yeah that could work. What if he bolts?” 

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t. I’m _really_ sick of him.”

-oOo-

Jaskier was standing in front of the unlit fireplace, bracing his hands on the hearth when he heard Lambert’s voice outside the library door. “-ure I’ll have seen it before, Geralt,” he heard Lambert grumble.

“Humour me,” Geralt replied. 

The door squeaked as it opened. Jaskier didn’t turn, staring down at the empty grate. Lambert grunted, the door slammed shut and he swore, loudly and profusely, calling Geralt a cornucopia of names. Jaskier listened as he tried to door handle a few times. There was a pause and then a thud, followed by another round of cursing. 

There was no way he _couldn’t_ have noticed Jaskier was in the room with him and he’d be lying if he said the way Lambert was ignoring him, in the wake of his realisation, didn’t sting. Anger began to pool in his belly. Surely they had been in love? They had clearly been sharing a room and for some time by the way everything was integrated together. Jaskier wished he could remember like it was a physical thing. The longer Lambert ignored him the angrier he felt until he’d worked himself into quite rage. 

“Was I truly so abhorrent to be with that you would rather pretend we’d never been together then tell me?” Jaskier snarled, still not looking around. 

Lambert ceased his attempts to escape, sighing heavily. “Geralt if I promise not to leave will you fuck off? I don’t particularly want you listening to this.” 

“You better not,” he heard Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier straightened, watching Lambert in the reflection of the mirror above the fireplace as he moved into the room and began to pace backwards and forwards behind the couches like a caged animal. “Well?” Jaskier demanded. 

Lambert stopped and stared at him, face stricken, chewing on his lower lip. “It was for the best,” he spat, continuing to pace, movements jerky like he was barely holding onto himself.

“Really?! It was for the best for one person in this room and that isn’t me! You selfish bastard! I don’t even remember us, even if I was the issue, you could have just said! You could have just sat me down and said, ‘Hey Jaskier, we were together but I’d been wanting to end things for a while. Since you don’t remember, is it okay if we’re just friends?’ But no! Instead you left me fucking confused out my mind because I knew _something_ was wrong but I couldn’t figure out what it was! Was avoiding me a way to try to make sure you didn’t trigger any memories or something?!” 

He turned to face Lambert, so angry with him he had to blink away tears. The man was just staring at him, mouth partially open, eyes wide. He looked so shocked, it only riled Jaskier up further. 

“Do you have _anything_ to say?!” He shouted before huffing a sigh and striding towards the door. “You know what, fuck you.”

“Wait!” The word was choked out and followed by gentle fingers wrapping around his wrist. A shiver caressed it’s way down Jaskier’s spine, butterflies erupting in his stomach and his heart skipped a beat. His mind may not have remembered Lambert, but his body did, his _heart_ did. 

Jaskier slowly turned around, raising an eyebrow expectantly. 

“This is so hard because I know it’s you and I can tell you anything but it _isn’t_ you either.” The words were halting, stumbling, they tripped over one another as Lambert’s face pulled in a grimace of pain. “Let me just…” Lambert wandered over to one of the windows, staring out at the valley below. “I think it’ll be easier to pretend like this.”

Jaskier was about to berate him again, make him turn and look at him, but as he drew breath, Lambert began to speak. “What you said. It’s not like that. Being without you has been horrendous. I just-” he swallowed audily, throat clicking in the quiet room. Jaskier wondered if this was normal, if this was how they always communicated difficult things, not looking at one another so the words could be released into the world without the pressure of eye contact. 

“I just,” Lambert continued, voice quiet, “couldn’t take the idea that you wouldn’t want me anymore. I know you were in love with Geralt when you were twenty seven, so why the fuck would you want to be with me?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier shrugged, his anger abating. Sitting down on one of the couches and crossing his legs, he turned his head to look at Lambert’s back. “But you didn’t give me the choice. Did it occur to you that upon being told that I’d spent however long with you, I might have wanted to explore _continuing_ to be with you?” 

Lambert’s silence was answer enough. 

“It wasn’t your decision to make, but you made it. So...what are we going to do now?” 

“What?” Lambert turned then, frowning over at Jaskier in confusion. 

“Well, I’m not in love with Geralt anymore actually, feel fuck all romantic when I’m around him, which I’m still wrapping my head around a little but I like being with someone and you’re not bad to look at. Will you at least tell me what it was like? How we met? I still don’t even know how long we were together.” 

“Seven years.”

“I can’t decide if I’m more offended at you for thinking I wouldn’t take that into consideration and just cast you aside or more offended at myself that after seven years I’ve not managed to improve your self worth just a smidge more,” he said, running a hand over his face, fingers scratching through the stubble on his jaw. 

“You do- did.” He turned back to the window. “A lot, actually. I’m just not very good at taking chances because they never work in my favour.”

“Then how did we even get together if you don’t take leaps of faith?” 

“It was all you. You turned up with Geralt one winter, took one look at me and decided I was the one. At least that’s what you told me. I don’t know how you had the patience. I was waiting for you to get sick of me through all of it. You would move us a tiny step forward but then I’d panic and take a huge step back even though I enjoyed what we were doing. It was all very sweet, hand holding and the occasional kiss on the cheek. You’d bake things for me. But I kept ruining it like clockwork.”

The idea of him baking for Lambert blew his mind. He hadn’t baked since he was a teenager, when his governess was fucking the gardener so she’d drop him off with the cook for a few hours at least three times a week. She’d put him to task to stop him from getting underfoot and he’d loved every second of it. He’d been gutted when his father found out and sacked all three of them. 

“So how’d we work passed that?” Jaskier asked.

“The scar on your hip. A drowner gave you that. I was supposed to meet you on the river bank in Hagge at sunset for the Beltane celebrations but I was running late. Got there just in time to see it take a swipe at you. For a moment I thought I’d lost you, it was too much, what it made me feel. I vowed to myself that if you lived I’d stay with you for as long as you’d have me.”

Ignoring the way Lambert’s words made his heart speed up, Jaskier said, “Geralt told me I was in one of the towers when I slipped. Was I in there with you?”

“Yes.” The word was riddled with pain.

“Why? And how did I slip if you were with me?”

“We’d been stargazing and were on our way back down when- We were playing chase, I was still at the top of the stairs letting you get a bit of a lead when- The noise of your head hitting the step, I’ll never forget it.” Lambert shuddered at the recollection. “I should have been there to catch you. It’s my fault you’ve lost your memories.”

“Don’t be so fucking stupid,” Jaskeir snorted. “It was clearly an accident. They happen. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself.”

“I lost the love of my life!” Lambert almost shouted. “I will feel sorry for myself if I want too.” 

“You haven’t though, have you?! I’m literally right here.”

“You know what I mean.” He couldn’t see Lambert’s face but he could hear the scowl in his voice nevertheless. 

“I need to think about this for a little bit. I’ll have more questions but if I ask you to take another leap, will you?”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. Also I want an apology for deciding to lie to me, getting everyone else to lie to me and then avoiding me like the plague, but you can have a few days to think through how you’re gonna do it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Lambert snorted, turning around. He appeared lighter somehow, the lines of his frown weren’t edged quite so deep.

“I wouldn’t say no to more of that stew either.”

“Is that a hint?” 

“I wasn’t exactly trying to be subtle.”

-oOo-

The apology was perfect. Lambert made the stew two nights after their talk in the library and then after dinner he’d looked deep into Jaskier’s eyes and said sorry. It was simple but one of the most heartfelt apologies Jaskier had ever received.

-oOo-

They were in the library. Jaskier was picking away at his lute on one couch while Lambert read a book on the other. It appeared to be some kind of elven high romance, not at all what Jaskier would have expected of him. But he was sure Lambert would be full of other surprises too.

Jaskier paused in his lute playing to ask, “So how would we spend a typical evening?”

Lambert looked up from his book, marking his page with a small knitted rectangle, the same colour as the L on the jumper panel Jaskier found.

“Much like this,” he shrugged. “We would have dinner with everyone, maybe play a few rounds of gwent, have some drinks. Then we’d head off to bed. You would knit, I’d read out loud. Sometimes we’d go straight to sleep and sometimes we’d...well, you know.”

His mind provided him with an image of the bruises that had been left on his hips and thighs. Lambert had put them there, pleasuring Jaskier, as he had pleasured Jaskier for years. A blush rose to his cheeks as if he was a virginal maid rather than a man pushing middle age. He chanced a glance at Lambert and snorted at the way he was trying to hide a smirk.

-oOo-

Jaskier was moving around the kitchen in an exhausted daze, he’d tossed and turned all night although he wasn’t sure what had kept him awake. The list of possibilities was long and he couldn’t be bothered to examine it too closely. He’d placed a pan of water on the fire to boil and was standing watching it when someone entered the kitchen. He didn’t turn to look at who it was.

Gentle hands grasped his arms, making Jaskier jump.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Lambert murmured, steering him away from the fire and over to the workbench that sat in the middle of the room. He was turned and lifted onto its surface as if he weighed less than a feather.

A few minutes later a mug of coffee was pressed into his hands. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, lifting it to his lips and blowing on it a few times before taking a sip. It was perfect, just the right amount of honey, just the right amount of milk. A groan escaped him before he could stop it. Jaskier couldn’t even be mad at the smug smile that flitted briefly over Lambert’s face.

-oOo-

“What was- is, your favourite thing about me?” Jaskier mused, “If you don’t mind me asking.” They were riding the horses down the banks of the frozen Gwenllech, wrapped up tight in thick winter cloaks and boots. Spider, Lambert’s dapple grey gelding, and Flora were so close together, Jaskier and Lambert kept almost knocking knees.

Lambert didn’t answer straight away, appearing to be deep in thought. Jaskier let him, having learnt that giving Lambert space was often the best way to draw him closer. 

“I have more than one,” he said, as if that was a _problem_. Jasker nodded for him to continue. “You’ve never smelt of fear, even when I was purposefully trying to scare you. You’re incredibly attentive and regularly made me feel like the center of...everything, even when I don’t deserve it. And your hands, I’ve always loved your hands. Everything they touch, they make better.” 

“Lambert,” Jaskier breathed, heart skipping a beat. 

He smiled at Jaskier, a touch sadly, knocked their knees together, and then started telling him a story about a contract he’d taken down in Novigrad.

-oOo-

After a brief conversation with Geralt, Jaskier headed down to the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves and donned an apron. He was just pulling the tray cinnabuns out of the oven when Lambert appeared in the doorway, sniffing the air intently. “Are those for me?” he asked tentatively.

“Mmhm,” Jaskier answered, “but you can’t have any until I’ve iced them.” 

“So cruel to me,” Lambert sighed, wandering into the kitchen as if someone was leading him by his nose. “Ruining my cinnafun.” 

“Just for that you can dry the dishes,” Jaskier laughed, unable to help himself at the sheer awfulness of Lambert’s pun. 

Lambert grumbled but did as asked, throwing the cooling cinnabuns longing glances every other minute. “They’re not going anywhere,” Jaskier snorted.

“You don’t know that. What if they don’t want to be eaten and steal away into the night?”

“Well if that _does_ happen, I’ll just make some more.” It was such an absurd thing to say but Jaskier found himself smiling regardless.

“I take back what I said earlier, you’re the absolute best.” 

The words made Jaskier’s stomach do a little flip. Jaskier collected ingredients for the icing, rooting through the cupboards, when he turned back Lambert had sat himself on the workbench, close to the cinnabuns but thankfully not within reach. He was swinging his legs, a playful glint in his eyes. “Why did the Wolf Witcher cross the road?”

“Why?” Jaskier asked, intrigued, setting down the ingredients next to Lambert.

“‘Cos their were fucking cinnabuns on the other side!” 

Shaking his head in complete exasperation, Jaskier threw back his head and laughed.

-oOo-

“How did you know to calm me down like that?” Jaskier asked. They were in the library again, both reading, and this time on the same couch, a fire crackling in the grate. Outside a blizzard blew, snow battered the windows and the wind howled.

“A few years ago you were taken by a group of bandits trying to control Geralt,” Lambert explained, tone dark as he looked into the fire, clearly seeing something else in his mind’s eye. “When we got you back you were physically unharmed but for a while after you were prone to fits of panic. I found that was the best way to calm you.”

“You killed them.” Not a question, Jaskier could read it on Lambert’s face.

“With great pleasure,” Lambert drawled, grinning wickedly. 

Jaskier reached out and gently squeezed Lambert’s thigh.

-oOo-

Jaskier dragged a chair outside and sat at the top of the front steps with a mug of coffee, openly watching Lambert put Ciri through her paces. He encouraged and praised her at every turn, correcting her form easily without any condescension and when she wanted to stop he stopped. From the bits and pieces Lambert had told him from his own childhood here at the castle, he was giving Ciri everything he’d wanted from his tutors. Thinking of Lambert as a small child, wishing for love and care and support but receiving only harsh words and physical punishment instead made Jaskier’s heart ache.

When they were done Ciri breezed passed him, only stopping long enough to drop a kiss to his cheek. Lambert approached at a much more sedate pace. 

“You’re so good with her,” Jaskier said as Lambert drew level with him. Reaching out, he threaded his fingers through Lambert’s and squeezed for just a moment before letting go. 

Lambert paused and stared down at Jaskier for a moment before saying a soft, “Thank you.”

-oOo-

“So what did we call each other?” Jaskier asked. They were in the stables, Jaskier was leaning over Spider’s stable wall, watching Lambert groom his gelding.

“Our names,” Lambert snorted, running the body brush down Spider’s neck in rhythmic strokes.

“You know what I mean,” he groaned, sticking his tongue out.

Lambert huffed and then said, “You have to promise not to laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Because they’re fucking stupid.”

“I promise not to laugh...too hard,” he offered.

“I suppose that’ll have to do,” Lambert sighed. He stopped brushing Spider, instead retreating to the gelding’s head, running his knuckles over the soft skin of his nose. Addressing Jaskier but looking at Spider, he murmured, “When we were around others we really would just call each other by name, sometimes you’d call me darling. But when we were by ourselves, I would call you _Pudding_ , because you can be sweet or sour but you always make me happy and you used to call me _Hedgehog_ because I’m so prickly.”

A rush of emotion that wasn’t humour surged through Jaskier, making his eyes prickle. He wanted to remember so badly, it was like a physical ache. His chest hitched and Lambert was there in front of him, callused thumbs gently wiping away the tears as they slipped free.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice catching. 

“It’s not your fault,” Lambert reassured him, stepping further into his space, the stable wall the only thing separating them. 

“I wish I could remember.” 

“I know. I know you do,” he murmured. A kiss was pressed to Jaskier’s forehead, warm and tender. His eyes fluttered closed, heart feeling like it had doubled in size at the small show of affection. “Why did the Wolf Witcher cross the road?” he asked, resting their foreheads together, warm breath fanning over Jaskier’s skin.

“Why?” Jaskier sniffled.

“It wanted to see it’s _neigh_ -bour. Get it?”

“Fucking attrocious.” But Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh.

-oOo-

“You’re particularly tired today,” Jaskier commented as he watched Lambert yawn for the fifth time in half an hour despite already having two cups of coffee. They were in the greenhouse seeing which vegetables were ready to be picked. Jaskier liked being in the greenhouse, it was always warm so he could comfortably just wear a jumper, no cloak, no gloves, and he quite liked the rich earthen smell that pervaded the air.

“I’ve not really been sleeping well,” Lambert answered as he checked on the leeks.

“Why?”

Lambert turned and blinked at Jaskier a few times before saying, “I’m used to sleeping next to you and now I’m _not_ , so I’m not really sleeping.”

“Oh.” Jaskier felt his cheeks heat.

“Yeah,” Lambert sighed, moving on to the parsnips.

-oOo-

“Just don’t go too close to the middle of the river,” Lambert warned, as they stepped out onto the Gwenllech’s frozen surface. It was a clear day, the sun was high in the sky but it gave off little heat, perfect for skating.

“Obviously,” Jaskier snorted, easily finding his balance and quickly skating away from Lambert. “Catch me!” 

He thought Lambert would let him get a little bit of the lead going but he’d barely skated a few meters when large hands wrapped around his waist from behind, pulling him backwards into a warm body. “Considering what happened the last time you had me chase you, let’s not do that.” Lambert’s warm breath on his ear sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. 

“Probably for the best,” he agreed. 

Lambert moved to his right side and took his hand, Jaskier was glad he was wearing gloves, his palms sweating at the gesture. They skated down the river, not talking, just enjoying each other’s company and listening to the quiet of the surrounding forest. Jaskier liked that he felt comfortable enough to be silent in Lambert’s presence. 

They’d just turned around to skate back to the keep, it’s towers peeking out of the trees some distance away when the shriek of a wyvern sounded off to their right. They both stilled, Lambert held a finger to his lips, releasing Jaskier’s hand to unsheath his silver sword. With great care, Jasker bent down until he could ease himself onto all fours, quickly unlacing Lambert’s skates.

“What are you doing?” Lambert breathed, barely audible. The shriek came again, this time a lot closer. 

“You'll break your ankles trying to fight in these,” Jasier replied. Heart pounding a mile a minute in his chest. It had just passed Imbolc, that was going to be one hungry wyvern and it had decided they were its prey.

Lambert nodded and let Jaskier remove his skates for him. In socked feet he padded back to the bank, gesturing at Jaskier to stay where he was. The wyvern slinked out of the tree line. Red scales bright against the snowy ground, it’s black spines glistening sickeningly with venom that Jaskier knew could kill a witcher in minutes, it’s teeth razor sharp as it opened its mouth to screech in Lambert’s face.

Lambert screamed back.

Standing back up, Jaskier watched, heart in his throat as Lambert attacked, blade swinging through the air, alight with runes, Quen shield glinting in the sunlight. Jaskier skated backwards, away from the fight, not wanting to be in range of anything. As Lambert dodged a snap of it’s jaws and landed a blow of his own to it’s side, the wyvern shrieked in agony, his blade slicing through its hardened scales. He jumped back to dodge another blow-

_Crack!_

It was a deep noise, and it resounded through Jaskier’s entire body. He swallowed and looked down, immediately wishing he hadn’t as he gazed at the spiderweb of fissures that surrounded him. He looked back to Lambert, blocking another blow and glancing over at Jaskier, a look of abject horror on his face. 

Ever so slowly, Jaskier moved back down onto all fours, lessons from his childhood of laying on the ice to spread his weight popping into his mind. He heard the sound of an Aard, followed by the wyvern shrieking. Delicately, Jaskier placed his gloved palms on the ice, followed by his knees. 

The ice fractured and Jaskier sank like a stone. 

Breath knocked from his lungs by the cold shock, Jaskier struggled against the current and the weight of his saturated winter clothes. It was so dark in the water, he kicked desperately, but he didn’t know which way was up. His lungs cried out for air and he fought the urge to take a breath, reaching out with his hands, trying to find the surface but to no avail. Losing his fight with his body, Jaskier inhaled, the water burning as it filled his lungs.

He just hoped Lambert wa

-oOo-

He came too with a violent cough. Something pounded on his back and he coughed again. The river water burned just as badly on the way up as it had on the way down. Jaskier coughed until he retched and then shivered violently, teeth chattering.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he heard Lambert whimper before he was being picked up and carried, cradled against a broad chest. “That’s the last time we ever do anything vaguely romantic again.” 

“I- I- I’m fi -ne -ne -ne,” he stuttered out.

“Please save your energy,” Lambert said, picking up his pace to a steady run. It was a bumpy ride but Jaskier didn’t complain. He wasn’t stupid, despite his words he knew that he was firmly at risk of hypothermia, the faster they got back to Kaer Mohren the better. 

Jaskier slipped in and out of consciousness. He remembered Lambert shouting for help as he ran through Kaer Morhen’s front gates. He remembered being stripped and put into a bed. He remembered being spoon fed warm water. He remembered being held against Lambert’s naked chest as he shivered under a heavy layer of furs.

-oOo-

When Jaskier woke it was still dark outside, the room was lit by a few low burning candles. He was still in bed with Lambert. The witcher radiating heat, holding Jaskier to his chest even in his sleep. Lambert looked so peaceful, face relaxed and open, it made Jaskier’s heart expand. Jaskier hadn’t realised just how much Lambert frowned, until he wasn’t anymore.

As he looked at Lambert’s sleeping face, Jaskier realised he wanted to be with him. He’d fallen in love with Lambert once and he was very sure he could do it again. Being around him was so thrilling, he’d be a fool not to stay with the man. 

Jaskier reached out and traced his finger tips carefully over the lines of Lambert’s face. The soft hair of his eyebrows, the crooked slope of his nose, the plain of his cheeks, the sharp line of his jaw, the soft stubble on his chin. He was incredibly handsome. Drawing his fingers over Lambert’s full lower lip, Jaskier was shocked when Lambert pressed a small kiss to his finger tips. He’d thought the man was still asleep. 

“Hi,” Lambert croaked, opening his eyes and taking Jaskier’s hand, drawing it back under the covers and not letting go.

“Hello,” Jaskier replied, lips curling up in a smile. 

“You come here often?” he asked, brows quirking.

“Every now and then, or so I’ve been told,” he joked. Jaskier paused, considering what he was going to say next before continuing in a much softer tone, “I like it more than I thought though, so it’ll not be the last you see of me if you think you can take that leap?” 

Lambert’s eyes flashed with shock, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline as his whole body tensed. For a heart wrenching second Jaskier thought he was going to bolt but after a beat he relaxed, head tilting to press their foreheads together. 

“I think I can, yes,” he whispered, releasing Jaskier’s hand to cup the side of his face, thumb rubbing over his cheekbones and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Can I kiss you?” 

To answer, Jaskier bridged the small gap between them and captured Lambert’s lips in a soft, tender kiss.

-oOo-

They were all sitting around the dinner table in the Grand Hall, tucking into a dinner of venison wrapped in pastry with some herbed vegetables. Another of Lambert’s creations. His ability in the kitchen continued to surprise Jaskier, but he was not going to complain about it.

Lambert sat across from him, one of Jaskier’s ankles trapped between his calves. “How’d I learn to knit?” Jaskier asked, between bites of parsnip.

Finishing his bite of venison, Lambert took a drink and then explained, “Contract I was on was taking longer than we thought it would. You were bored shitless so I convinced the innkeeper’s wife to show you. Ended up enjoying it more than I think we both expected.”

“Huh. I think I’d like to learn again, in the spring.” 

“We’ll find someone,” Lambert nodded. “You can finally finish my jumper.”

-oOo-

“I was thinking,” Jaskier began, sitting down next to Lambert on the library couch. A few days had passed since he fell through the ice, and he’d made a decision that had been weighing on his mind since he woke up lying in Lambert’s arms.

“Dangerous,” Lambert interrupted, looking up from his book.

“Very funny,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Correct, I’m hilarious,” Lambert’s grin was wide and smug. In retribution, Jaskier squeezed Lambert’s knee, hard, laughing when he yelped and tried to scoot away from him. Lambert’s ticklishness had been a revelation and one Jaskier was not scared to exploit. Grabbing Jaskier’s hand, Lambert threaded their fingers together and held them tightly, prompting, “You were saying?” 

Jaskier grinned at him wickedly before starting again. “I was thinking that you could move back into our room. Just so you can finally get a proper night’s sleep, of course.”

“Of course.” Lambert stilled, looking at him warily but thankfully, his body stayed relaxed. “You’re sure?”

“Very.” 

“You don’t remember how loud I snore when I sleep on my back.” Lambert’s tone was light but the worry was clear in his eyes and the slight downturn of his mouth.

“I’ll just make you turn over,” he said, tone easy and light, “or suffocate you with a pillow. Who knows?”

“I think I’ll take the risk,” Lambert smirked, apprehension disappearing as he raised Jaskier’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

-oOo-

“I thought you said we weren’t doing romantic stuff anymore,” Jaskier breathed. They were in the greenhouse, candles littered the floor, throwing everything into a soft light. A path led through them to a blanket, on the blanket were a picnic basket and a few bottles of wine.

“Just, for the love of the Gods, don’t knock any of the candles over,” Lambert said, taking Jaskier’s hand and leading him down the path.

-oOo-

“You _kissed Geralt!_ ” Lambert snarled, slamming his book closed.

They were in bed, Jaskier wearing one of Lambert’s shirts, Lambert in just his smalls, both reading by candlelight, the full moon shining brightly outside. The fact Lambert didn’t know about Jaskier’s wayward attempt had been weighing on him for a few days and he’d finally just let the words slip free.

“It didn’t mean anything,” he added hastily. “I didn’t feel anything when I did it.”

“That’s not the point! That’s my brother!” he shouted, throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed, haphazardly pulling on clothes. 

“Where are you going?” Jaskier asked, watching aghast, heart pounding in his chest. He’d thought they’d just laugh it off.

“For a walk.”

“What? No, don’t do that. Lambert, please come back to bed.” But his request fell on deaf ears. 

Unbidden, a wave of anger surged through him as he watched Lambert buckle his boots. “You don’t get to be annoyed at me!” he shouted, also climbing out of bed, and advancing on Lambert. “I only did it because I had _no idea_ what was going on. If you’d just told me instead of hiding like a _coward_ then I wouldn’t have done it in the first place!”

“Is that what you think I am?” Lambert asked, straightening up and stepping into Jaskier’s space. They were of a height, but the way Lambert was looking at him, angry and hurt, Jaskier felt impossibly small. “Well I’ll just go be a coward somewhere else then.”

He stormed towards the door faster then Jaskier could chase him, despite trying to. 

“Wait!” he called as the door was slammed, “Lambert I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Reaching the door, Jaskier pulled it open. “Please come back!” he shouted, but the corridor was already empty. 

The anger deserted Jaskier as quickly as it came, leaving horrible, gut churning unease in its wake. What had he done?

Jaskier quietly closed the door and trailed back over to the bed. He didn’t feel like reading anymore. A part of him wanted to try and find Lambert but he knew it was a foolish idea. Lambert had already proved he was very adept at avoiding Jaskier when he wanted to be. 

Blowing out the candles he climbed under the covers and lay on his side, facing Lambert’s side of the bed. He reached out a hand, the mattress was still warm from where Lambert had been sitting. An ache began in Jaskier’s heart and then spread further, pervading his chest. His stomach knotted with worry. What if Lambert didn’t come back? 

Unable to sleep, Jaskier stared at the opposite wall, his mind summoning up dozens of scenarios, showing him all of the ways Lambert could call off their relationship. Everything had been going so well, probably a little too well, but he hadn’t stopped to consider it as he’d been enjoying himself so much. 

An unknown amount of time had passed when the door was quietly opened. Jaskier debated pretending to be asleep. Lambert would know that he wasn’t but he surely wouldn’t call Jaskier out on it. However he found he couldn’t do it, didn’t want to lie in bed next to Lambert with such a thing hanging over them. 

As Lambert closed the door, Jaskier rolled onto his back and sat up, leaning back on his palms, heart in his throat.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Lambert murmured. He didn’t sound angry, just tired. 

“Couldn’t,” Jaskier shrugged, eyes following Lambert as he crossed to his side of bed and sat down heavily. “I apologise for kissing Geralt, and I apologise for calling you a coward,” he said, meaning every word.

Lambert blew out a heavy sigh before saying, “No, _I’m_ sorry. You were right, I had no right to be angry at you. If I hadn’t been so craven it wouldn’t have happened. It was my fault.” 

“That doesn’t mean I get to throw it in your face when I’m annoyed at you,” he said, climbing out from under the covers and crawling over to Lambert. He sat himself down behind Lambert, legs pressing against the outside of Lambert’s thighs, and pressed his forehead to the nape of Lambert’s neck. 

Gentle hands came to rest on top of his knees, fingers rubbing slow circles into his skin. “I’m sorry I ran away.”

“It’s alright,” Jaskier sighed, snaking his arms around Lambert’s waist, “because you came back.”

“Forgive me?” Lambert asked.

“Of course. You?”

“Yes.”

After a few minutes of silence, Lambert whispered, “It was just always such a big fear, in those first few years. I was convinced you would wake up one day and realise you’d wanted Geralt all along and I forgot that you didn’t know that anymore.”

“I’ll learn everything about you again,” Jaskier promised, pressing a kiss to the back of Lambert’s neck, “even if it takes me another decade.” 

Lambert nodded and then pulled out of Jaskier’s hold. Jaskier watched Lambert strip down to his smalls and after a sweet kiss goodnight, happily settled back into bed using Lambert’s chest as a pillow, tracing patterns into his chest hair. One of Lambert’s hands snuck under the hem of Jaskier’s shirt, his fingertips setting Jaskier’s skin alight. 

Jaskier was almost asleep when Lambert murmured, “Why did the Wolf Witcher cross the road?”

He grunted his ascent for Lambert to continue.

“Because his Bard was on the other side,” Lambert whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head. Jaskier nuzzled his cheek into Lambert’s chest, his heart filled with happiness.

-oOo-

Jaskier’s body was sore in all of the best of ways. He’d had to don a high collared doublet that morning to hide the bruises Lambert had sucked into his neck, much to Lambert’s satisfaction. But if the looks the others were giving him were anything to go by, it wasn’t fooling anyone.

Everytime he sat down he was delightfully reminded of the night they’d spent together, of the way Lambert had made love to him. It wasn’t very often you got to have a second first time with someone and Lambert knew his body well. To say it was the best Jaskier had ever had would have been an understatement. He still had a lot to learn about Lambert’s body but he hadn’t seemed bothered about having to remind Jaskier how he liked to be touched.

Delicate bruises had blossomed on Jaskier’s hips and thighs, matching perfectly to Lambert’s hands. A product of Lambert holding him as close as possible while their bodies moved as one. Jaskier loved them and kept pressing his own fingers to them through the fabric of his breeches whenever he was alone. Each time, the reminder of how good Lambert made him feel never failed to send a shiver down his spine.

-oOo-

“So, are you and Lambert all...okay now?” Geralt asked, he was sitting on the workbench in the middle of the kitchen, watching Jaskier peel potatoes.

“Yes we are, thank you,” Jaskier smiled. 

“Thank fuck,” Geralt sighed. “Best day of my life when you fell out of love with me and into love with him.”

“You cheeky fucker!” he scowled, throwing a potato at Geralt’s head. Annoyingly, Geralt caught it and in the same motion threw it back onto the pile waiting to be peeled. “It’s still not too late to start leaving toast crumbs in your bed, you know! And Lambert would help me.” 

“He would too,” Geralt grimaced. “Can I buy your forgiveness by making that soup you like.”

Jaskier pretended to think about it. He truly wasn’t offended but it was the principle of the thing. Picking up another potato, Jaskier looked over at Geralt before sniffing, “I suppose, and you must promise to introduce me to Yennefer.” 

He’d heard a lot about her. Apparently they’d hated each other but had become friends once Jaskier had moved past Geralt. He was intrigued to meet the woman who held Geralt’s heart. 

“Deal,” Geralt grinned. 

Jaskier grinned back.

-oOo-

Jaskier had a terrible headache. He stumbled out of the library, a hand on the wall, black spots pulsating in front of his eyes. “Lambert,” he tried to shout, but his voice was weak and carried no weight. “Lambert.”

Footsteps sounded behind him anyway, running. “I’m here. I’m here, Jaskier,” Lambert said, voice sounding slightly frantic. “What wrong?” 

Gentle hands pressed into his back and behind his knees, before he knew it he was being lifted and cradled against Lambert’s chest. “My head,” he grimaced, closing his eyes “feels like it’s splitting.” 

“I’ll put you to bed and get you some yarrow extract,” Lambert told him. Jaskier managed one short nod, the movement making the pain worse. A high pitched sound was ringing in his ears. His stomach churned and Jaskier took deep breaths in through his nose to stop himself from vomiting his lunch. 

Their bed was wonderfully soft when Lambert laid him down on it. He disappeared for a moment, then the light in the room disappeared. Cracking one eye open, through the darkness Jaskier could just see that Lambert had strung a cloak over the window. Lambert gently pulled off his boots and removed his doublet before tucking him under the covers. 

“I’ll be right back,” Lambert murmured, before pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek and rushing out the door. 

The pain seemed to be steadily building at the back of Jaskier’s head. He pushed his fingers into his scalp, trying to alleviate it slightly but that only made it worse. The ringing got louder. Jaskier opened his eyes but he couldn’t see anything. The pain hit a terrible peak of intensity and he sobbed against it’s onslaught, holding his head in his hands, wishing it would end. 

Jaskier was about to call out for Lambert again, or for anyone who could hear him when it disappeared, as if it had never happened, leaving only bone deep weariness in its wake. 

He was intensely glad but then pulled a face as he realised that Lambert would still make him drink the yarrow, no matter how much Jaskier tried to wheedle out of it. It was a disgusting brew that he could barely get down when he was sick. He remembered the cold he’d suffered from last winter and the incessant way Lambert had forced it down his throat. 

Jaskier stilled, barely even breathing.

He remembered... 

He remembered everything. 

The first time he’d seen Lambert and thinking he was beautiful but filled with so much pain and wanting desperately to do something about it. 

The first serious conversation they’d had about their pasts and how they had shaped them as people. 

The first time he’d seen Lambert injured, and how warm he’d felt when he let Jaskier stitch him up. The sorrow Jaskier felt at the way Lambert had been so clearly affected by the touch of gentle hands, hands who meant him no harm.

The first time they’d kissed. How Lambert had looked like he was one step away from quivering out of his skin in fear, not of Jaskier but of wanting it too much, enjoying it too much. How brave he thought Lambert was when he set those fears aside. 

The first time they’d danced together in some backwoods tavern. A bard had arrived a few hours before them but it had been the only place to eat and drink for miles so they’d stayed and ended up having a fantastic time. 

The first time they’d made love. It hadn’t even been that good in the grand scheme of things. Jaskier had certainly had better but he hadn’t cared because it had been _Lambert_ and he’d known that with just a little bit of effort it could be phenomenal. 

The moment he’d realised he was in love with Lambert, the kind of love that lasted the trials and tribulations of a real relationship, not the type you only imagined in your head. It wasn’t a particularly special moment, Lambert had become unbelievably annoyed over finding an incorrect fact in a textbook about alghouls and Jasier had just known. 

And so many other little moments. Inside jokes and favourite meals. Laughing while making love because Lambert’s knee had slipped off the mattress. Lambert darning his socks as soon as holes even thought of appearing. Jaskier taking the time to learn how Lambert took his tea and what herbs he needed for his potions. Whispered words of comfort and love when he was sick or Lambert had poisoned himself taking too many potions. Knitting in bed while Lambert read aloud.

Lambert stepped back into the room. “I’m here. I’ve got the yarrow. Will you need hel-”

“Lambert, I remember,” he choked out, sitting up to stare at Lambert. “Oh Gods, Hedgehog, _I remember_!”

The cup of yarrow hit the floor with a solid clunk, the brew splashing over the stone floor. Lambert took a dazed step forward, staring at Jaskier incredulously before launching himself onto the bed, pushing Jaskier back down onto the mattress and burying his face in Jaskier’s neck.

“ _Pudding,_ ” Lambert quietly sobbed, shoulders shaking. Jaskier threaded his fingers into Lambert’s hair, scratching his scalp just the way he liked, holding him as tightly as possible with the other arm. Lambert clutched at him and cried even harder. “I kn-know you weren’t r-r-really gone,” he stuttered, “b-but I missed you!” 

“I’m back now,” Jaskier sighed, pressing a kiss to the side of Lambert’s head. “You were wonderful, so wonderful to me while I couldn’t remember. Thank you for being so patient with me throughout all of it.”

“I was awful!” he cried, tears soaking through Jaskier’s undershirt. 

“Considering how much stress you were under, you were phenomenal.” His memory returned, Jaskier understood all of the little things that had given away just how distressing Lambert had found the whole experience. 

“I love you,” he whispered into Lambert’s hair, the knowledge and feeling of it light in his heart. 

“I love you too,” Lambert whimpered before his sobs redoubled. 

It took awhile but eventually Lambert calmed down, his sobs turning into sniffles. Jaskier pulled his handkerchief out of his breeches pocket and offered it to Lambert, who lifted his head from Jaskier’s neck, eyes red rimmed and swollen, and took it, blowing his nose obnoxiously loud. Throwing it on the floor when he was done.

“Feel better?” Jaskier asked, stroking his knuckles down Lambert’s cheek. 

Lambert nodded before saying, “Do you?”

“Never better,” he smiled, cupping the side of Lambert’s face and kissing him just the way he liked, soft, with just a hint of tongue. “Although,” he murmured against Lambert’s lips, gently brushing their noses together. “I do have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t call you rude _that_ often when we first met, you dramatic little shit,” he grumbled, smacking Lambert’s arse for good measure. 

“You called me rude quite a lot,” Lambert argued, huffing a laugh. 

“I don’t think I did.” Jaskier pressed another kiss to Lambert's lips before he could argue. A few minutes passed, filled with tender touches and thoughtful kisses. When Jaskier pulled away it was just far enough to whisper, “Why did the Bard cross the road?”

They both knew the answer. It was a stupid joke, one they’d repeated to each other back and forth for years, but Jaskier knew Lambert would want to hear it, that it would alleviate any final worries that he had. 

“Why?” 

“Because his Wolf Witcher was on the other side.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! I'm not sorry for the truly horrendous jokes, haha! 
> 
> [My Tumblr!](https://lutes-and-dandelions.tumblr.com/)


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